Aspiring to be “heels”
Mary Trump, estranged niece of the country’s erstwhile chief executive, observed a year ago, “Donald gave people permission to be their worst selves. We’ve always had problems with racism in this country but he took it to a different level.” Donald Trump was open about it, got rewarded for it, and encouraged it in others. And more.
As a leader, Trump may be pretty sorry. But he is a trend-setter. He’s spawned a host of imitators. For a certain segment of the population, he made dirtbaggery cool.
Dirtbaggery is a guilty pleasure for ordinarily prudish Americans. For those of a certain age, the name Eddie Haskell defines the type. Those of a later vintage recognize Eric Cartman or Beavis and Butt-Head as cartoon variants. Few expected to see one as president or as a role model for one-third of the country.
Adrienne Matei explores dirtbaggery for The Atlantic. The term seems to have arisen in mountain sports. In a time of “historic lows” in confidence in major institutions, writes Matei,
the dirtbag’s recalcitrance makes a certain kind of sense. Even the internet-born concept of “goblin mode”—the temporary, shameless indulgence of one’s id, potentially as a coping mechanism amid chaos—feels like a descendant of dirtbaggery. Call them unkempt, disruptive, or brash; at least dirtbags are honest.
Matei’s subject is the dirtbag in current entertainment. Characters in shows she profiles share “a defiant outsider sensibility.” Except those in the Millennial Canadian sitcom Letterkenny also posess “a clear set of personal values, including helping friends in need, common respect, and no fighting at weddings.” Good fun. Good fiction. And a few yuks.
Trailer Park Boys’ creator, Mike Clattenburg, has said that the series isn’t intended to make fun of its characters but is “about the people playing the cards they’re dealt.” Our cards right now don’t look great: We’re living in a time of crisis, amid a pervasive feeling that everything’s getting stupider and sadder. This is a moment to reevaluate what we want to prioritize—even if, like the characters of Trailer Park Boys, it mostly boils down to spending more time goofing off with friends. We may not all wish to opt out of society and shotgun Miller Lites while blasting Megadeth. But we can still define fulfillment for ourselves. This, ultimately, is the wisdom of the dirtbag.
If only that “wisdom” limited itself to shotgunning Miller Lites. In reality, someone has to clean up after those who don’t, the ones driven by status insecurity, a lust for power, and an unhealthy fascination with assault-style weaonry. Sometimes what needs cleaning up is blood.
The Turning Point USA Student Action Summit over the weekend glorified dirtbaggery, introducing speakers with professional wrestling pyrotechnics. As attendees cheered the cavalcade of “owning the libs,” even by the ever-lamer Sen. Ted Cruz, the conference attracted Nazis outside. Inside, “things got pretty juvenile.” Naturally, Donald Trump was the headliner.
Conservatives pay good money to cheer for its dirtbags, the political equivalent of wrestling’s heels. But dirtbags are not just guilty pleasures anymore. Conservatives want to be them. Trump gave them permission to be honest about it.
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